I Whispered You Stardust
by MissingMommy
Summary: Because you were a galaxy that I wanted to get lost in. :: Or fifty different ways that Harry and Clara fall in love. :: HarryClara, a series of unrelated AUs.
1. Mermaid AU

**Mermaid!AU: heart of gold**

When most people thought about the sea, they considered it to be a place of freedom. But Harry knows better. The vast ocean that spreads around the world is a prison. Because like the tides longing for the moon, crashing against the shoreline in the hopes of reaching it, she is bound to a live of longing. Longing not to need water after ten minutes on a rock, for the easy movement that the people make.

She hates how much she needs to breathe in salty water instead of air. It means that she can only spend a few minutes, at most, above the waves before the water calls back to her. Like a slave, she obeys.

Until the day that she seeks out Moriarty. Harry has heard all the stories of the mermaids that have seeked him; they never been seen again. They have all disappeared. But Harry wants nothing more than to walk on the beach with human legs, instead of living the rest of her life crushing beneath the waves, and she will do anything to achieve it.

Her brother swims next to her. He's been quiet the entire trip to the cave Moriarty calls his home. He catches Harry's wrist, his hand warm against her skin. "Are you sure about this, Harry?" he asks. His eyes flicker to the cave before returning to meet her eyes. "All the stories I've heard about him are terrible."

She gives him a sad smile. She uses his hand around her wrist to pull him to her, wrapping her arms around him briefly. "John, you've always been content to be a mermaid. And you have Sherlock and Mary now. But we both know that this has never truly felt like home to me. I need to do this."

"He always asks for a price," John says.

Harry nods. "I know. And whatever it is, I'm willing to pay it."

He gives her a grave look, because he knows that this is the last time he will see her. "I hope you find happiness. I truly do."

She gives him a smile, tears welling in her eyes. "And I hope that they keep you happy, little brother."

If she doesn't leave now, she may lose the courage to. She gives him one last look, memorizing the way he looks at her, eyes bright, shimmering cobalt tail swaying back and forth nervously. She turns abruptly and swims into Moriarty's cave. She knows that the moment that she enters, she will never be accepted among her own people again. It's forbidden to see Moriarty under penalty of banishment.

She pushes those thoughts to the back of her mind as her own indigo tail propelling her forward. There's no turning back now.

She peeks her head above the water. The cave isn't as ominous as she expected. It's lavishly filled; the furniture is mismatched, most likely taken from sunken ships, but it's still grander than anything she's ever seen.

"What is this?"

Harry turns her head towards the source of the voice. She had been too intrigued by the decorations to even look for someone. From behind a tall chair, a man appears. He's tall, dark haired, with a smirk on his face. Harry can't keep the shiver from running down her back. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knows that this is Moriarty. And maybe, everyone was right; there's something in his smirk that doesn't sit right with her. He can give her what she desperately wants, though, so she will do this.

"It would seem I have a visitor," he says.

She meets his eyes. "It's been said that you have to the power to give me what I want." She keeps her voice steady to show no fear.

He _tutts_ at her as he examines his fingernails. "You wish to walk on land with the other humans?" he asks. But the tone makes it clear that it's not a question at all. "How boring!"

Anger floods through Harry's icy veins, burning her from the inside out. "It's a _crime_ to even be here," she says, haughtily.

In a blink of an eye, he is standing in front of her. His eyes dance with a dangerous look. "It's a crime because I can give you all what you want."

"Because you ask for a price for your magic," Harry corrects, "and it's usually a mermaid's immortality."

He studies her for a long moment. "I'm guessing that you're fine with that?"

Harry snorts. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't prepared to give you my immortality."

"Interesting," he mutters, tapping his fingers against his chin. He sits down, dipping his feet into the water next to her. His fingers force Harry to meet his eyes. After a long moment, he drops his hand. "It's been a long time since a mermaid has come to me, looking for human legs. I will grant you what you wish. For a price, of course."

"I've already told you that you can have my immorality," she replies.

"That you have, my dear. Your immortality will be mine if you cannot make another fall in love with you," he says. "You will have until the next full moon to do so."

Harry heart jumps into her throat. The full moon just passed two days prior. It's not enough time to make someone fall in love with her. "That's impossible," she says matter-of-factly.

"That's the agreement," he replies. "A month on land to make someone fall in love with you, or I take your immorality." There's a pause, and then he winks at her. "When the month ends, you can decide whether or not you want to die as a mermaid or as a human."

Her eyes narrow. "What's the catch?"

He gives her an honest-to-God smile. And it scares her more than his smirk did. "My, my, aren't you a clever one? The catch is that you decide now whether you die as a mermaid or human if you cannot manage the terms of the agreement."

Ever since she can remember, all she has wanted is to live among the humans, to walk amongst them. Maybe this catch is worth it. She won't ever be able to return to her people, regardless, since she's just broken the law. Her thoughts stray to her little brother and she reminds herself that he has Sherlock, with his dark tail and his extraordinary brain, and Mary, with her bright smiles and brighter tail. _He'll be okay without me,_ she thinks.

"If I decide to die as a human, will I keep the human legs?"

"Yes."

Harry takes a deep breath. And then she nods. "Then I will die as a human if I cannot make someone fall in love with me before the next full moon."

She feels Moriarty's hand under her chin again. "A kiss will seal the deal."

He gives her no warning as he presses his lips to hers. And she is pulled under by his magic.

* * *

When she comes to consciousness, she is opens her mouth to breathe, only to find salt water burning her lungs. Fear washes over her as quickly as the anger had earlier. She struggles to the surface of the water. Rain pours out the sky, and the water crashes in waves that she cannot keep above. The waves pulls her under again.

She loses consciousness.

Pain brings her around. She feels a hand on her chest, pushing hard, rhythmically. Salt water forces its way up her throat. She barely manages to turn to the side before she is choking water out. She coughs and it hurts.

"Oh, you're alive!"

The coughing dies down, but the pain lingers with every new breath. Harry lies back down with her eyes closed. _This doesn't feel much like living,_ she thinks ruefully.

She feels something draped over her body. Her eyes snap open at the feeling of the rough material against her skin. She tries to throw the material off her. "W-what?" she says, choking on the words. Her throat is aching.

A hand stops her movements. "You're naked."

Harry turns to look at the stranger. If Harry believed in love at first sight, she might claim to love her. She's beautiful, with long, dark hair and pale skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. For the first time since she swam into Moriarty's cave, Harry thinks that maybe it was the right choice. And then Harry turns away to look at herself.

The stranger moves her hand from whatever is on Harry. She lifts it gingerly. Beneath it, Harry is delighted to see two human legs. It's enough to make her forget about the fact that she is naked.

"I suppose you don't know where your clothes are," the stranger asks.

Harry frowns. "I…" she trails off. Telling a human that she is a mermaid that made a deal with a witch is probably not the right thing to do.

The stranger takes pity on Harry. "Well, you've been through an ordeal. I saw your ship sink from here. I doubt you really care about your lack of clothing. You look to be about my size. I have some spare clothes in my car that you can wear."

But Harry's tuned her out. She pushes herself into the sitting position to look out at the ocean. The storm is wreaking havoc. "Ship?"

"Oh," the girl says. She covers her mouth. "You don't remember?"

Harry doesn't have an answer for this. She stares out. Moriarty sank a ship to give her cover to make it to land. She doesn't know if there had been humans on it. Death of humans to give her human legs isn't what she agreed to.

The stranger must read the remorse on Harry's face, because she takes Harry's hands in her own, urging her to stand. "Come on, what's done is done, and there's nothing we can do about it. But I can get you dressed before you get a ticket for public indecency."

Pain sears in the human legs as she is pulled into the standing position. She barely manages to keep upright. She cannot help but hope that the pain is only fleeting since she is unused to human legs. She's watched humans for centuries now and it's enough to know that she needs to put one of the legs in front of the other to move forward.

As she moves the right leg, pain whites her vision and she sways. The stranger immediately holds Harry upright. "You didn't say you were hurt."

"I didn't know," she manages. She inhales deeply, air burning her lungs. And unconsciousness washes over her like a tidal wave.

* * *

When Harry awakes, her blood runs as cold as the deepest parts of the ocean. The beeping sound that filled her ears speeds up. The room is white and cold and bright. She inhales sharply and is pleasantly surprised to find that it doesn't hurt.

The door swings open. "You're awake!"

The girl who was at her side when Harry washed ashore is standing in the doorway, holding something in her hands. In the bright lights, Harry can see the red of her lips that are tugged into a worried face that her brother so often wore. Her heart hurts at the thought of her brother.

"I...Where am I?"

"The hospital," she replies.

Harry frowns. She looks down at herself. There's something wrapped around her body and something else on top of it. She sheds the first layer and spots something on her wrist. She goes to tug it off, when the stranger crosses the room quickly.

"No," she says. She covers Harry's hand with her own, and Harry's reminded of her last interaction with John. "You need to keep that on for the doctors."

When Harry stops, the hand moves from her wrist. Harry twists her wrist to get a better looks at. There's only two names on the bracelet. "Who are these people?" she asks, offering up her wrist.

The girl laughs. And it sounds like bells. "The second one is the name of your doctor. And the first one….well, I didn't get to ask your name before you fainted and you didn't have any identification, so they listed you as Jane Doe."

"Who's Jane Doe?"

She tilts her head to the side, studying Harry. Deciding that Harry isn't joking, she explains, "Jane Doe isn't a _real_ person. When a person is found without any identification, they are classified as John or Jane Doe until their real names are figured out."

Harry makes a face. "That's a little ridiculous," she says.

She laughs again. It sounds like bells, high and beautiful, and Harry could fall in love with that sound alone. "It's better than calling someone 'unidentified,' don't you think?"

"My name is Harriet,"she informs the brunette, instead of an answer. "But I prefer Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Clara."

Harry smiles. "Beautiful name for a beautiful…" Harry trails off. She doesn't know much about human tradition but she doubts that they like to be referred to as humans. "Female," she settles on.

Despite the hesitation, a blush colors Clara's cheeks. She looks away from Harry and clears her throat. "The doctor says that there's nothing wrong with you. Which is good. They believe that your memory will come in time."

"My memory?" Harry asks.

"You didn't remember being on the ship that wrecked," Clara explains. "But the doctor's say that it's a traumatic event, so your brain may have blocked it out to protect you. It should come back in time."

Harry is torn in between telling Clara that she wasn't on the ship and knowing that if she does, that Clara will tell her that she is insane. And she's not sure what is worse: lying or Clara thinking she is crazy. "What about the pain in my legs?"

Clara gives her a questioning look. "Pain?"

"It hurts to walk."

* * *

"There's nothing wrong with your legs," the doctor says. He's old with a receding hairline, large glasses, and a frown.

Harry mimics his face. "Then why does it hurt to walk?"

He folds his hands in his lap. "My diagnoses is that it's psychosomatic," he informs her. Thankfully, he carries on, "Your brain thinks that your legs are hurt when they aren't. There's nothing that can be done about psychosomatic cases."

"You're telling me that it will always hurt to walk?"

His frown get impossibly deeper. "Maybe," he says. "There's always a chance that once enough time has passed that your brain will recover from the ordeal that it's been through. If that happens, the pain will go away."

Harry feels unsettled by his words. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

"I can refer you to a Psychiatrist," he answers. He gives her a small, square object that she crushes in her hand and a pitying look. "But just give it time. It should go away."

In that moment, Harry wishes that she had her tail back and the entirety of the ocean in front of her. At least swimming could never be as painful as walking.

* * *

"Do you have a place close by?" Clara asks.

The wheelchair is stopped in front of the building and the sun is blinding. Harry frowns. She can feel the pull of the ocean deep inside her bones, but if she pushes that aside, she can feel the faint pull of magic on the land. Witches. They will be able to help her.

"I don't know where they live," Harry admits. But she points to east. "They live that way."

"I can take you," she offers.

Harry shakes her head quickly. Clara's already given her clothing; Harry can't take more from her. "You've done enough already. I cannot thank you enough."

Clara gives her a face that clearly means that she doesn't believe her. She is digging through the bag at her shoulder. After a few moments, Clara hands it to her. "That's my number. Call me if you need anything. I'm serious."

Taking the item, Harry doesn't mention that she has no idea what Clara just gave her. But she smiles anyway. "Thank you." She places it in the same pocket as the other object.

Clara nods. She doesn't quite smile back at Harry.

Clara hesitates before she walks away. And Harry thinks that she now knows how John felt when she swam into Moriarty's cave. Harry shakes her head to clear her thoughts. She made her decision; she's going to have to live with it.

Pushing herself up, Harry gets shakily to her feet. Pain flares. A gasp passes her lips. Maybe she should have agreed to Clara's help, but Clara is long gone by now. All Harry can do is bite her lip and push through the pain.

* * *

Her lip is bloody by the time she makes it where the pull is the strongest. She doesn't know how to get the attention of the witch inside. She's saved from trying to figure that out by a woman standing before her.

"Hello," she says cheerfully. "Oh!" she gasps.

Before Harry can say anything, the stranger wraps an arm around her waist. If she wasn't grateful for it, Harry might find some humor in the fact that it's the second time a stranger has carried her since she's become human.

Harry is brought inside and to a couch. She makes a noise in between a hiss and a sigh as she is placed on it. She's left alone when the woman disappears for a while. When she returns, there's a white box in her hands. She kneels before Harry.

"You're a witch," Harry leads with. After she's said this, she realizes that it probably isn't the right thing to say.

The woman, who is bright and small, simply smiles softly. "Whose name is Molly. What brings you to me?"

"I followed the pull of magic," Harry answers honestly. "I figured that maybe a witch could help me get settled into human life."

Molly bring something up to Harry's lip. "This might burn," she warns. And Molly was right; it does burn. "I can do that."

Harry lets Molly do whatever she is doing. When the witch packs everything away, Harry glances up at her. "I was given until the next full moon to find love," Harry says. She's not sure why she tells the witch this. There's something about her that calms everything in Harry's body.

The smile drops off Molly's face. "You made a deal with Moriarty?"

"How did you know that?" Harry asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

Molly takes a seat right next to Harry. She wraps her hands around Harry's and squeezes. "You came looking for me. All mermaids who have made a deal with Moriarty seeks me out some time or another during their month."

"Why?"

"He always takes more than he bargains," Molly says. "Sight, sound, feeling, taste, smell; he takes what you want the most from you. It's the way he wins."

Harry closes her eyes. "How does he do it?"

Molly squeezes her hand again. "When he looks into your eyes, he sees your desires. It's all in the magic. What did he take from you?"

"I'm not sure he _took_ anything. I wanted nothing more than to walk on land, with two feet, and feel the sun on my skin. But it hurts to walk. I've been told that it's just my brain making it up and that's there's nothing that can be done about it." Harry finally opens her eyes. "That must be it, right?"

Molly nods her head. "You wanted to enjoy walking and he made that impossible. I'm afraid that there's nothing that I can do about it. I can't counter another witch's spell, at least not one as strong as Moriarty's."

Harry doesn't have the words to express her anger.

Unsurprisingly, Molly gives her a sympathetic look. "You have a month to find love. I have a spare room that you sleep in. I can take you there now. It looks like you can use some sleep. We can talk more in the morning."

She lets herself be helped to her feet and lead somewhere. Her legs are in excruciating pain by the time they make it to the room. She lays on the bed,grateful to be off her feet. "Thank you."

Molly just smiles. "Get some sleep."

* * *

When Harry wakes up, the room is barely lit. There's no clock in the room but she assumes it's morning. She sits up and gingerly moves her legs until they dangle over the side of the bed. She braces herself for the pain as she stands. It doesn't hurt as badly as it did the day before, but it still feels like jellyfish have stung her legs.

She's halfway to the couch when she sees Molly.

"The kitchen is that way," Molly says, pointing to the right of Harry. "Think you can make it?"

Harry nods. She continues to use the wall as leverage to make her way to the kitchen. Molly is a whirl around the kitchen, making them both breakfast. Harry just watches, envious, from the chair.

"I keep clothes here for your kind. It'll take a spell for it to fit right, but it's better than nothing," Molly waves towards her. "You're free to stay here as long as you want, but I do have a day job. I won't be back until this evening. There's plenty here to eat. Luckily, I keep a savings for times like this. It won't be much but it can get you a few lunches or dinners with potential love interests."

Harry furrows her eyebrows. "You do a lot for mermaids that want to be humans. Why?"

Molly places food in front of her. And then takes a seat. "Moriarty gives all witches bad reputations. Besides, I like helping people; it doesn't matter if they are humans or supernatural."

Harry's stomach growls. And she glances down at the food. It's in a circular object. She's not sure how she's supposed to get it out, so she picks it up. She brings it to her lips and tilts.

Laughter fills the air. It's a muffled sound. But it's loud enough that Harry puts down the food. She just raises her eyebrow at Molly, unimpressed.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I sometimes forget that your kind isn't familiar with table etiquette." She motions towards the circular object. "That's a bowl. It holds food, as you see." She picks something up from the table and hands it to Harry. "That is a spoon. You scoop the food out with it."

Harry brings the spoon up to eye level. "How is this supposed to hold the food?"

Molly bites her lip. And then she picks up her own spoon. She puts it in her bowl and then brings it out. "It's only supposed to hold so much food. See?"

Harry tries to mimic, but the contents of the bowl falls off the spoon. Harry frowns. It takes several more attempts before she manages to get food into her mouth. When she looks up, Molly is grinning at her.

"That's it," Molly says encouragingly. "I suggest that you get out of the house today. Maybe find someone who you would like to see more. This doesn't have to be torture."

"Oh!" Harry says. She digs into the pockets of the jeans she's still wearing from yesterday. "Clara — the girl that found me — she gave me…" she trails off. She glances down, noticing that there were two objects in her hands. "Well, she gave me one of these. I'm not sure which one."

Molly takes them from her. "For the record, these are papers. And these both look like phone numbers."

"Phone numbers?"

"It's a way of communicating without having to be in front of person. It's complicated, but easy," Molly explains. She hands one back to Harry. "That one is probably the one from Clara. The other one seems to be on a doctor's note. You should probably call her."

Harry takes it. "I don't know what is on the paper."

Molly frowns. "Sorry, you would think with how many times I've gotten visitors, that I would've remembered that." She disappears from the room and then returns, holding two things in her hands. She passes the one in her right hand to Harry. "This is a telephone. I've already entered the number. All you have to do is press the green button and put it to your ear like so." Molly demonstrates. " When you're done, press the red."

"I'm just supposed to invite her to lunch, right?"

Molly grins. "That's generally how humans start to date. There's a burger place that is close to here — Revolution. Ask her to go there. Burgers are something that you can eat with your hands without being rude about it. Just head south on this road. It's the corner store two streets down."

Harry nods.

She lays the items in her left hand on the table. "This is money." And then she proceeds to explain the difference between them. She isn't satisfied until Harry can tell them apart. "Okay, well, let's get you some different clothes. Maybe you would like a shower too?"

Harry follows Molly back into the bedroom she slept in, slowly. Molly is digging through a pile of what Harry assumes to be clothes.

"Would you like something like you're wearing or something that isn't so constricting like what I'm wearing?" she asks, gesturing to herself.

Weighing her options, she gestures to herself. "It reminds me of my tail," Harry explains.

"Of course." Molly nods. "Here are pants." More rustling. "And a shirt. I'll be right outside the door when you finish."

Harry is left in the bedroom. She remembers how the nurses helped her into the clothes from the day before. It takes several attempts and she is panting through the pain before she is done. She calls out for Molly.

Molly comes into the room. Within a couple of seconds, the clothes are no longer loose on her body, but not overly tight. She admires her handywork. "Not too tight?"

"It's perfect. Thank you so much, Molly."

Molly just grins. "No thanks needed. This is what I like to do. I have to go to work now, or I'll be late. I'll be back here a little bit after the sun sets."

She can't help but think that Molly has a heart of gold. She doesn't think she could ever pay Molly back for everything the witch is doing for her.

Once Molly is out of the house, Harry makes her way back into the kitchen and picks up the phone. She presses the green button and holds it to her ear like Molly had done earlier. There's a loud ringing in between moments of silence. And the finally she hears a voice.

"Hello?"

"Clara?"

"Yes."

"It's Harry," she says. When there is silence, she adds, "From the beach."

There's her laughter again, high as bells where Molly's had been like waves — choppy and abrupt. "Right. Did you make it to your friend's house alright?"

"I did. I was hoping that you might want to join me for lunch today?"

"Do you have some place in mind?" Clara asks.

"Revolution," Harry says confidently.

There's an undeniable sigh. "You got me there. That's my favorite burger place. I can be there in half an hour."

Harry wavers. She's not sure how long it will take her to walk there, given how slow she is. "An hour?" she counters. "I'm new to the area, so I want to have time to get lost."

Clara laughs again. And Harry thinks that means she's doing something right. "I can do that too. I'll see you soon."

She pulls the phone from her ear and clicks the red button. She gathers the money off the table where Molly left it and makes her way towards the restaurant.

* * *

By the time she makes it to the restaurant, her legs are aflame with pain, protesting every movement, and there's a sheen of sweat all over her body despite the coolness of the day. It's taken her nearly the entire hour to make it there. She sees a hand waving, and upon closer inspection, she realizes it's Clara.

Clara's smile is like the sun. She's as beautiful as Harry remembers. It's enough to make Harry forget about the way that her legs ache. She makes her way up to Clara.

"You're still hurt?" Clara asks, concern written on her face. "You could've told me. I could've picked you up!"

Harry smiles. "It's okay. Really. Are you hungry?"

Clara looks flustered. "Yes. Of course. Let's sit down."

"I've never been here before," Harry says. She lets Clara lead the way inside the restaurant.

Once they have taken their seats, Clara looks through the menu. "I come here often, so I might be able to suggest something for you?"

Harry likes the easiness that has settled between them. Clara points things out on the menu. But ultimately, Harry remembers Molly saying that she could eat a burger with her hands. So she opts for that.

Harry rests her arm on the table, leaning towards Clara. "So what were you doing on the beach the other night?"

"I like watching the sunset on the beach. What's the point in living in a beach town if I don't do that?"

Harry doesn't blame her. The sunset over open water is one of the most beautiful things in world. "Do you do that every night?"

Clara laughs. "I wish! I only manage it on days that I'm working the day shift. What about you? Why were you on that boat?"

"I don't know," Harry says quietly. "I think I was trying to come here. My friend, Molly, lives here. I was planning on visiting her." The lie comes out so easily that it scares Harry.

But Clara covers her mouth. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Harry shakes her head. "No, it's okay."

"I feel like I'm screwing everything up. Can we start over?"

Harry frowns. "What do you mean?"

Clara cocks her head to the side, studying Harry with dark eyes. "You're something else."

"You have no idea."

* * *

Clara invites her to the beach the next time she has the morning shift. It's the first time that Harry's been to the beach since she got her legs. She is sitting in the sand, waiting for Clara. There's a voice in the back of her head that warns her about getting too close to the water. It sounds a lot like Moriarty.

The sun is almost sinking by the time Clara gets there. She sits down next to Harry, offering her an apologetic smile. "Work ran a little late."

Harry gestured to the sky, "You made it just in time."

Clara pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. "I was a little girl the first time I remember really watching the sunset. My dad had gotten home early and had taken mum and I outside just in time to see it. I couldn't have been more than five."

"My brother showed me," Harry says.

Clara unwraps her arms and places a hand over Harry's. Harry turns her hand to fit Clara's more securely. "You don't talk about your brother."

"He's good. Kind. He's all I got. He worries a lot, more than necessary, most of the time. But he's happy. Or he was when I last saw him."

Clara frowns. "Where is he?"

Harry smiles. "Home," she answers. There's two weeks left before the full moon; her and Molly have taken to counting them down. She's going to make Clara fall in love with her, and then she'll be free to see her brother again.

The sky gets darker, redder, with clouds of pink and purple and dark blue. She turns towards Clara. She watches as a smile grows across Clara's face. It's painted in an array of colors, and Harry thinks that she's never seen anything more beautiful.

"No matter how many times I see it, it never grows old. It's still as beautiful as the first time."

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "You are beautiful."

Clara's head snaps towards Harry, their eyes meeting. "I was talking about the sunset."

"I know. But that doesn't change the fact that you are beautiful."

A flush crosses Clara's cheeks. "Watch it," she warns, "I may fall in love with you."

Harry laughs for the first time. "I hope so."

They sit out on the beach until long after the sun has set, holding hands. Clara takes about her parents, and Harry talks about John. And maybe it's enough to make Clara fall in love, because Harry's already a little more than halfway in love with this girl.

* * *

They meet for coffee. It isn't particularly romantic. But Clara smiles the whole way through the date. Her eyes are alight with happiness and she doesn't hesitate to take Harry's hand as they walk back to Molly's house.

Clara's hand is warm in her own.

Harry can't remember the last time she was this happy. It doesn't even matter that it hurts to walk. She would endure anything to keep Clara smiling at her like this. Clara is rambling about work and customers and how she would rather be at the beach all day than deal with it.

Harry can't help herself. "Can I kiss you?"

Clara laughs, like bells, stopping in the middle of the street. And instead of answering, she uses the hand that Harry is holding to pull her closer. Harry stumbles, but Clara doesn't seem to mind. The other people on the street just moves around them. Clara tilts her head slightly and presses her lips to Harry's.

Harry's heart speeds up. It feels like a wave breaking against her skin — fast, cold, wonderful. Clara pulls back. Her eyes are as bright as the sun. And Harry thinks that this is definitely what love feels like.

"We should do that more," Harry says.

Clara laughs again. "Maybe in private?" she suggests. "I'm not sure the entire street appreciates us hogging the pavement."

Harry lets herself be pulled along by Clara. Making the deal with Moriarty was definitely worth it for the look on Clara's face alone.

* * *

"You only have three days for her to confess her love for you," Molly tells her. She's looking at Harry from across the kitchen, as she packs a picnic basket.

Harry rubs a hand across her face before meeting Molly's eyes. "What if she doesn't?"

Molly laughs. It reminds her of stormy days. "I've seen the way she looks at you, Harry. She's in love. Just ask her. And you beat Moriarty."

"She only knows me as human," Harry says.

"Then tell her the truth."

Harry sighs. "I doubt it's that simple."

Molly finishes packing the basket. She pushes it towards Harry. "It's only as complicated as you make it. If you don't think that she'll react positively about you being a mermaid, then wait until after the full moon to tell her. It will give you a lot longer to get her accustomed to the idea. But she'll come around."

Harry wraps her arms around Molly. She's not sure how she would've gotten through this without the witch. "You always know exactly what to say," Harry murmurs into Molly's chestnut hair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Molly picks up the basket and hands it to Harry. "Now, go woo the trousers off Clara and get that declaration of love."

* * *

Harry has gotten accustomed to walking, even though it still hurts. She makes her way down to the beach to set up. There's a blanket in the basket that Molly's packed. Harry lays that out first and then places the basket on top of it.

She sits down, thankful for the reprieve from the pain, as she waits for Clara to come. The sun is about to set by the time Harry sees Clara. She's timed this perfectly. A romantic dinner with the sunset as a background.

Clara is grinning when she sits down. She leans across and brushes her lips against Harry's.

When they pull apart, Harry is mirroring Clara's expression. She turns and digs through the basket until she finds the candle in it. She flips the switch on the bottom as Molly taught her and places it between them. "I've been told that this is a good substitute to a real candle."

"We wouldn't want to set the blanket on fire by accident. That would ruin dinner," Clara says. "I think that this works just fine. But I have to ask: what's the occasion?"

Harry shrugs. "Does there have to be a reason?"

Clara bites her lips and studies Harry for a long moment. "I suppose there doesn't have to be."

"I just thought that since this is your favorite spot that it would be nice to have a picnic here," Harry says.

Clara narrows her eyes. "Molly helped you, didn't she?"

Harry laughs. She raises her hands in surrender. "You got me there. I wanted to do something nice. And I apparently can't cook for anything. So Molly fixed the food. I hope you don't mind."

"If you can't cook, who cooked for you and your brother?"

"John. He took after our mum. Or so we've been told," Harry explains. She takes out the food that Molly's prepared — sandwiches, a cheese platter, grapes. There's also a bottle of sparkling cider and cups in the basket. "I wasn't sure what all entailed a picnic either."

Clara laughs. She picks up a sandwich and takes a bite. When she swallows it, she says, "Pass my compliments along to the chef," she says with a wink.

A smile crosses Harry's face as she picks up a sandwich for herself. "I will do that."

They eat in companionable silence and drink the cider until the sun is well below the horizon. The sky is dark, and the only light they have is the electric candle.

Clara is the first one to break the silence. "You know, I've never felt this way about someone before."

Harry's heart skips a beat. "How do you feel?"

"I think I'm in love with you. Which is crazy because we just met less than a month ago. But there's an undeniable draw to you and now I can't imagine life without you in it. And I'm in love with you. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me," Clara says. Her eyes are lit up by the light of the candle as she turns to look at Harry. "I'm not crazy, am I? You feel this way too?"

 _But will she still love me when she finds out that I've lived hundreds of years under the waves?_ she wonders

"I…" Harry starts. "I do. I'm drawn to you too."

"That isn't an _I love you too_ ," Clara points out.

Harry heart hammers in her chest. "I love you too," she whispers. It caughts by the sounds of the waves crashing against the coast. She does love Clara, her bright eyes and bell-like laugh, but she's terrified that Clara won't love her in three days. "I love you too," she repeats louder.

"I love you too," she says one last time. And then she presses her lips to Clara's. When she pulls away, she says, "That is the one thing I am sure of."

"Then why does it sound like goodbye?"

Harry smiles. "It's not. I think that I'm going to stay here. That I'm going to move here."

Clara's face morphs into pure happiness. She pulls Harry into a kiss. And Harry feels like she's drowning beneath the waves of Clara's love.

* * *

The first thing that Harry does when she gets back to Molly's is collapse on the couch. "Is there a way to not think about what happened tonight?"

She hears Molly rustle around in the kitchen for a few minutes before she comes back into the living room. Molly hands her a cup. Harry sniffs at it and scrunches her nose in disdain. "This smells awful," she declares.

"It's alcohol. It's not supposed to smell or taste good."

"Then what is it supposed to do?" Harry asks.

Molly takes a long drink from her cup. "It's supposed to help you forget, like you asked."

She looks down at the amber liquid. And then she takes a small sip. It burns on the way down. Harry almost chokes on it. "This is horrible."

"After a while, it won't burn anymore," Molly tells her.

There's a companionable silence between them. Molly's had a hard day at work and Harry doesn't want to remember the way Clara's feelings are always written on her face, doesn't want to remember how _love_ looks on Clara's face, the way the words sounded coming from her red lips. She didn't think love was supposed to hurt like this. Because Clara doesn't know the truth about Harry and she can't bring herself to tell Clara. So Harry tips the cup back and swallows down the liquid. She grimaces as it burns.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Molly asks.

"Not particularly."

"Okay."

And Molly doesn't push, which Harry is thankful for.

* * *

"Molly!" Harry cries. "It doesn't hurt." She might've slurred, but she's not sure. The alcohol is twisting her thoughts and her words and the world. But she's standing and for the first time since she got human legs, it doesn't feel like jellyfish have attacked her.

Molly is staring at her wide eyed. "No pain, whatsoever?"

Harry takes a deep breathe and then a step. She waits for the pain to catch up to her, but it does. She grins. "No!"

And then she falls.

"Well, that's a start," Molly says.

* * *

She's sitting on the beach where Clara first found her. It's been an entire month. She watches the full moon rise, a bottle of alcohol at her side. She's been steadily drinking it since the sun set.

When it peaks, Moriarty walks out of the ocean. He looks just as Harry remembers — tall, dark and dangerous. "Your time is up, mermaid."

"Someone did fall in love with me," Harry says defiantly.

Moriarty laughs. A deep, hollow sound resonates in Harry's bones. "Did they tell you that?"

"Yes."

He raises his eyebrow. "But you didn't tell them that you are a mermaid," Moriarty says. Harry is about to ask how he knows when he cuts her off. " _Tsk, tsk_ , a person can't fall in love with only part of a person. So you fail."

"You didn't say they had to love all of me."

"I'm doing you a favor, mermaid. Your lover will die, but your kind will never let you back. I'm giving you a life with the person who _loves_ you," Moriarty tells her. "Aren't I kind?"

Harry glares at him. "You're a despicable witch," she spits.

He grins. "I do believe your immorality was the price of your legs."

She doesn't have the power to defy him, so she does nothing to fight him. She feels his magic wash over her. His magic leaves a bad taste in her mouth. But it only lasts a few moments before it's gone. And then she doesn't feel the pull of the ocean anymore. Or the pull of Molly's magic.

"It's been a pleasure, mermaid."

She sits there for a long time after he leaves. Until the sun is peaking over the horizon. She should go back to Molly's. She should go to Clara's. She should do something. But the only thing that she wants is to see her brother again. She wants to swim with the dolphins and the whales.

She didn't realize how much she missed her tail until then.

She finishes the last of the alcohol and wades into the ocean. The waves crash against her skin. She's forgotten how the ocean's water feels against her body. She dives under water.

* * *

A body with blonde hair washes up on shore that night. Somewhere, two people cry.


	2. Gods AU

**Gods!AU: weakness**

 **Warning: references to abuse.**

"Please bring warmth to this cold house."

The girl offering the prayer is small, with sandy curls, her hands clasped together in front of her, kneeling at the end of her bed. Upon the other bed in the room is a boy, younger than her with the same sandy curls, sleeping through the loud argument between their parents. The goddess Hestia turns away just as the father raises a hand to the mother.

It's not the first time that she has heard a prayer like this in the time since she's taken up the mantle of Hestia. But everytime she hears a similar prayer, a part of her breaks. She understands now why Hestia gave her immortality to another and then why they passed it on — there's only so long a person can hear these prayers before they break completely.

"I will try," she whispers.

Zeus has forbidden the interaction with mortals, but Hestia leaves her wooden throne behind because Zeus is the first to break the rules that he's placed. Zeus never realizes that she's gone, since she always is non-disruptive in her interactions with mortals. Most of the mortals that pray to her just want some warmth in their lives; that's exactly what she provides until it isn't needed anymore.

So she watches the girl for a few days from steps of her temple in Olympus, figuring out the best way to approach her.

By the time that she gets back to her throne that day, there is a woman already sitting in it. Her features are dark and beautiful, and a she-dog and a polecat lay at her feet, which both raise their heads to look at she as she enters. They lay their heads back down.

"Hecate," Hestia greets.

Hecate is the one of the few that hasn't passed on the mantle of their names in exchange for a mortal life. The goddess gives her an unimpressed look, and she supposes after centuries of life that not much can impress an immortal being.

"Hestia," Hecate says, "or should I say Clara."

Clara smiles at the use of her mortal name. "What do I owe the pleasure?" she asks. "Can I offer you some of my offerings?" She gestures to the long table in her temple that has pig, a variety of cheeses, some deserts, several different types of wine.

Hecate waves a hand dismissively. "I came here to warn you. You are at crossroad that, either way, will end badly."

Clara frowns. "I thought Apollo was the god of prophecy."

Hecate stands. Her animals stretch lazily. "I may not be the goddess of prophecy but I am the goddess of crossroads," she says sharply. "And what you decide to do now will have consequences."

"What do you suggest I do then?" Clara asks.

"I would tell you to leave this prayer alone," Hecate answers. "But, like the others before you, I doubt that you will heed my warning."

Understanding passes through Clara. "You're saying that I will have to choose between being Hestia and helping the girl. What is different about this mortal?"

She places a hand on Clara's shoulder. She meets Clara's eyes with eyes that remind her of her mortal father. "You are lucky that I am not Apollo and that I don't speak in riddles. This mortal will be your weakness. If you follow through with what you're planning, it will destroy you."

"It will destroy her if I don't."

"My apologies. That is the crossroad." Hecate's voice is hard, but Clara can hear a little remorse in it.

Clara nods. "I understand. Thank you for the warning."

She takes her seat and watches at Hecate walks away. Hecate is almost out the door when she turns back to Clara.

"This girl isn't the first to be destroyed nor will she be the last; mortals destroy themselves all the time. However, they can always rebuild themselves after. But we are destroyed in irreparable ways. If it's to destroy you, make sure it's worth it."

Hecate's warning sits heavily in Clara's heart. But it doesn't stop the part of Clara that breaks when she hears the prayer again. Maybe she's already being destroyed.

"Please bring warmth to this cold house."

* * *

Earth hasn't changed much since the last time she was here. She's glad that she can change her appearance at will. Since most of her worshippers are children, the appearance of a young girl feels natural to her now.

She sits on the wall, on the corner of the street the girl lives of, swinging her legs back and forth. The girl's bus picks her and her brother up from here. Clara's decided it would be the best place to approach her.

The sun is breaking the horizon when the girl and her brother make it to the bus stop. She smiles warmly as the fire in her temple. "Oh, I am in the right spot then!"

The girl narrows her blue eyes at Hestia. She moves in front of her brother protectively. "You're new."

She laughs. It sounds like a harp. "I just moved here from Birmingham," she says.

Deciding that she is telling the truth, the girl introduces herself. "I'm Harry."

The boy comes from behind Harry. "And I'm John," he says proudly. "What's your name?"

"Clara," she answers. When she comes to help, she prefers her mortal name over her title. Clara hops down from the wall. "It's nice to meet you, Harry. And John," she adds.

John giggles, and Harry manages to smile at her. Harry looks a lot more like the child she is when she smiles.

Maybe Clara can help after all.

* * *

She appears at the bus stop each morning, waiting for Harry and John to make it there. She spends the bus ride sitting across from siblings until they get off at school. Today is different; both siblings are quiet, clinging to each other. Neither of them say much besides "hello" and "goodbye."

Clara studies them from her seat. Something happened, but Clara cannot put her finger on it. She wants so much to figure out why they look miserable, but she doesn't want to push.

That night, like every night before, she hears Harry's prayer, like a mantra.

"Please bring warmth to this cold house."

Clara swears to try harder the next day.

* * *

The prayer stops next night. Clara doesn't realize it until Monday morning when she is sitting on the wall, waiting for Harry and John. She waits.

And waits.

And waits.

But Harry and John never show up. The sun has long since rose above the horizon. It beats down on Clara's neck for a while before she decides that they aren't coming today.

She goes back to her throne. She's tempted to peer into their home to see the reason, but she doesn't. Clara listens to the prayers and tries to find Harry's voice among them. It never comes.

Clara doesn't go back to the bus stop. She spends her time helping other mortals.

* * *

"If you are listening Hestia, please bring warmth to this cold house."

Clara straightens at the sound of the prayer. It's been a long time since she's heard those exact words. Not long enough since she's heard a prayer like it, but the familiarity of the words strikes Clara's heart.

She peers to Earth to make sure that it's really Harry praying to her again. A lot of time must've passed because there's a young woman, her sandy hair is long and messy and falls around her shoulders in waves, but it's unmistakably Harry. She's laying on a bed, her eyes closed, a pillow hugged to her chest as she curls around it.

Clara can't help the rush of excitement that rushes through her veins. But it is quickly tempered when she notices the room is littered with empty bottles of alcohol.

Tomorrow, she'll work on this. Tomorrow, maybe she can change something. Right now, though, it's ill-advised to appear to Harry.

* * *

It takes a few days to gather Harry's schedule. Clara manipulates her appearance to match the age of Harry. And then she times it perfectly. Harry is walking to work when Clara is walking in the opposite direction. She bumps into her hard enough to send Harry's purse flying, her things scattering across the pavement.

She stops to help Harry pick them up. "I'm so sorry!" She is handing Harry back her things when she glances up and smiles. "Harry?" she asks.

Harry's blue eyes are bright as she looks at Clara. She tilts her head. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

"Clara," she says, extending her hand. "We rode the same bus for a while when we were younger."

Harry doesn't take her hand. Instead, she frowns. And then realization flashes across her face. "That was a long time ago," she says. "I'm surprised you still remember."

Clara shrugs as she drops her hand. "I guess you have a memorable face," she replies. She glances around. "Would you like to get some coffee and catch up?"

Harry's eyes dart around before she nods. "How about _Notes_ on St. Martin's Lane? Say around 3 tomorrow?"

"Sounds great. I'll see you there."

Harry gives her a half-smile before she walks away. Clara goes back to her temple on Olympus feeling like a job well done. And then she hears the prayer again.

* * *

Clara is sitting in the coffee shop the next day, early, sipping on coffee with a scone in front of her. She watches the clock as three comes and goes. It's almost five o'clock when Clara is about to leave. Then she sees Harry come through the door.

Her blonde hair is a mess and her eyes are red and puffy. She takes a seat across from Clara, putting her purse in the seat next to her. "I would make up some stupid excuse, but I really just forgot about this today." Her voice is rough.

Clara frowns. "Have a bad day?"

"Something like that," Harry replies, noncommittally. "Anyways, I bet you didn't come here expecting this," she says gesturing to herself. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Clara says softly. "You can talk to me about it, if you'd like."

Harry stares at the table, her hands fiddling with a napkin. She glances up. Clara doesn't remember the last time she's seen a mortal look so vulnerable. "You remember my little brother?"

Clara nods. "John, right?"

Harry gives her a watery smile. "You are really good at remembering names. But yeah, John. He's got our father to consent to him joining the Army."

"Isn't he too young for that?"

"With parent's permission, you can join the Army at sixteen," Harry answers bitterly. "I should be glad that he's waited until he's almost seventeen to do this, but I'm not. He's leaving me."

Clara reaches across the table and takes Harry's hand in her own, stopping the other girl from playing with the napkin and causing her to look up. "There isn't anything you can do? Your mum?"

Something flashes across Harry's face that Clara doesn't recognize. "You remember when we stopped riding the bus?" She waits for Clara to nod. "Mum died and dad sent us to some boarding school because he couldn't stand to look at us."

Clara gapes. "Harry…I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -"

The blonde laughs hollowly. "It was a long time ago," she says dismissively. "But to answer your question: no, there is nothing I can say to John to make him stay. He wants to get away as badly as I do, but he can actually do it."

The memory of the first time Harry prayed to Hestia hits Clara like a freight train. Anger courses through Clara's body at the thought of Harry's father hitting her too.

Harry is looking at her in amazement. "Your eyes look like fire."

She can feel herself losing control. She takes a deep breathe and reels her anger back in. "I -" she breaks off. She doesn't have an explanation.

Harry gives her the first real smile Clara seen since Harry was young. "It makes your eyes look even more beautiful. I mean, not that you aren't already beautiful, because you are."

Clara feels her cheeks burn. "You're beautiful, too."

Harry picks up her purse. "I have to go," she says suddenly. I have work early tomorrow."

Clara frowns. "Can we do this again?" she asks. "I like talking to you."

Harry considers this. And then she digs through her purse until she pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen. She writes out her number in it and hands it to Clara. "I have a crazy work schedule, but you can call and we'll work something out."

"Thanks," Clara says. She gives Harry her warmest smile. "I look forward to our next date."

Harry looks like she's about to protest the usage of the word "date" but she nods to Clara. "Me too."

And then Harry is gone from coffee shop.

* * *

Clara invests in a mortal cell phone to keep in contact with Harry. She hides it in different inconspicuous places around city.

Harry doesn't pray every night. But when she does pray, Clara calls her the next day to arrange a meeting.

But it doesn't matter how often Clara sees Harry; nothing changes in Harry's eyes. Clara doesn't know what else she is supposed to do. She can't spend day and night with Harry. She had her godly duties to do as well.

There's only one thing left for Clara to try.

* * *

Clara is surveying her offering table, trying to decide what she wants to eat, when she hears her temple door open. When she turns, she is greeted by Aphrodite. "Welcome," she says. "Offerings?"

In mythology, before Clara realized how real it was, Aphrodite was blonde. If she wouldn't have known the mantle of the name can be passed on, she would've never believed this woman to be Aphrodite. The woman standing before her has short chestnut hair and a piercing gaze whose name was once Irene. She walks with all the confidence that Clara lacked in her mortal life. She's beautiful and alluring.

Aphrodite waves her hand dismissively. "I didn't come for trivial things," she says. "I came to talk about Harry."

Clara freezes, a grape halfway to her mouth. "What about Harry?"

"You're in love with her. I'm simply wondering what you are going to do about it."

"I'm picking a mortal to pass the mantle of Hestia onto," Clara answers after a long pause. And then she finally eats the grape she is holding.

Irene arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow at her. "Gods and goddess fall in love with mortals all the time," she says. "That does not mean that the mantle has to be passed on."

Clara gives Irene a sad smile. Irene makes a good, sometime terrifying, Aphrodite and she's going to miss her. "You know how it started," she says, but it sounds more like a question. She leans against her offering table and crosses her arms. "She prayed for help. I've tried helping her as a goddess. I think I need to try helping her as mortal."

Irene leans across Clara and grabs a grape. She pops it into her mouth. She chews as she debates how to answer. "Love doesn't heal mortals. In fact, love doesn't heal at all."

"I have to try."

"This will destroy you," Irene warns.

Clara nods. "I know. I've known from the beginning. But I couldn't be Hestia _and_ ignore Harry's prayer. It would've gone against everything Hestia, everything that _I_ stood for."

Irene takes another grape. "As long as you know what you are walking into."

"Love isn't always blind," Clara says, grinning. It doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"To mortals, it is. But love could never be blind to the likes of us," Irene replies. "Pick a worthy replacement."

And then Irene disappears through the door, leaving Clara with her offerings and prayers and her own thoughts.

* * *

Clara picks a brunette that prays to her daily. In amidst the prayers for help, Molly has always gave her thanks to Hestia. Molly took the gods existance in stride. She even listened patiently as Clara explained what she wanted; how to be goddess; what to expect.

Passing the mantle on is surprisingly anticlimactic. She doesn't feel any different than she did with her immorality. Only, now she knows that she can hurt or killed with mortal weapons.

Molly's eyes blaze like the hearth that Hestia is known for. Clara knows, deep down, the fire in her eyes disappeared. Molly gives her a soft smile. "Thank you, Clara, for this gift."

"It's a gift and a burden. But I can tell that you will be amazing at this. Good luck."

She diverts her eyes as the new Hestia disappears in a bright light.

As Clara stands in the house that once belonged to Molly, she's happy with her choice. The brunette is a kind-hearted soul, just the right type to bring warmth into people's hearts.

Now, she has a mortal life again. Maybe she can help Harry now.

* * *

The first time Clara goes over to Harry's apartment, it's not what she expected. Harry cleaned up for Clara, but she didn't take the beer out of the fridge.

Though, Harry doesn't touch the alcohol while she is there, which Clara is thankful for. Harry turns on the telly and brings up Netflix. Clara feels a sense of easiness as she sits beside Harry on the couch.

They share take out and Clara notices that Harry smiles more than she ever has before.

Clara goes home with a smile of her own and sense of accomplishment.

* * *

"What are we doing?" Harry asks. She's paused the show they are watching. She looks at Clara questioningly.

Clara tilts her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Are we dating?" Harry asks bluntly. "I don't want to assume anything, but you've been over here almost every night for the past week and a half."

"Is that something you want?"

Harry laughs loudly. Clara loves the sound of it. "Are you serious? You haven't noticed...you haven't realized that I've been falling in love with you?"

"I thought you just wanted company," Clara replies honestly. "So no, I didn't realize that the feeling was mutual."

Harry's eyes widen. And then she grins. Clada cannot help but think that she looks beautiful when she grins.

Harry places a hand on Clara's neck. "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's alright."

Clara closes the distance before Harry can. As she kisses Harry, it feels like the hearth she watched for so long. It feels like coming home.

When they pull apart, Harry leans her forehead against Clara's. "I've been waiting to do that for a long time."

* * *

The beer in Harry's fridge goes untouched, until it won't taste good to drink and Harry throws it out. Clara spends most of her free time at Harry's.

Harry smiles more, laughs more, looks happier. She thinks that she's finally helped the blonde. Until Harry comes stumbling through the door, her breath smelling like alcohol, her eyes glassy.

"Harry?" she questions.

Harry's gaze is unfocused. "Hey, Clara," she slurs.

Clara leads her to the couch. "What is going on?"

It takes Harry a few minutes to reply, but when she does, all Clara gets is a, "bad day," before Harry is standing and stumbling her way to the bedroom.

Clara naturally follows. "You know you can talk to me instead of getting drunk."

"I can do what I want!" Harry snaps.

Clara shakes her head. "I'm going home. Call me when you're sober and not before."

Harry doesn't argue or beg her to stay. Clara walks back her place, anger coursing through her veins. She prays.

"I need warmth tonight, Hestia. Warm my heart, please."

* * *

"Harry, give me the bottle," Clara pleads. Her hand is outstretched, open and waiting.

But Harry tips it back again. And Clara watches as she swallows the liquor until the rest is gone. Harry's eyes are glassy as she stares past Clara. "I prayed, you know? Almost every night, to Hestia; I thought maybe she could warm my father's heart. Or at least mine."

Clara bites her lip to keep from blurting out, " _Yes, I know. I heard. I answered._ "

Harry turns to meet Clara's eyes. "And I thought the gods were listening to my prayers - they sent me you after all - but now I know they weren't. Perhaps they never did. The bottle listened better than the gods ever did."

"You don't know that," Clara argues.

"Why would they even care?" Harry asks. Her hand tightens around the neck of the empty bottle. "We're mere mortals while they are immortal and perfect. Fuck them for not helping," she says. She shakes in anger. "Fuck mum for leaving, for making me think they could. Fuck John for leaving. Fuck them all."

The anger drains out of Harry's body as quickly as it came. "I need another drink," she says as she stands.

Clara watches as Harry sways, gets her orientation, and stumbles from the room, empty bottle still in her hand.

And Clara shatters. Because Harry's breath is heavy with the stench of alcohol. Clara can't remember the last time she didn't smell alcohol on Harry. There's no amount of love, no amount of help that Clara can give her to fix Harry's problems. And Olympus knows, she's tried every way that she could.

She thinks back to the when Hecate came to her as a warning. She now understands what she meant; there's nothing that can heal Clara. She can't take back up the mantle of Hestia and her heart belongs to Harry - fully, completely, always - but she can't be with her.

Clara cannot and will not watch as Harry drinks herself to an early grave, no matter how much she loves her. Because Harry clearly doesn't love her more than she loves the feeling she gets with alcohol in her system. Clara closes her eyes against the tears threatening to fall. She gathers her things and makes her way to the front door. Hesitating as she goes to close it, she looks back toward where she can hear Harry banging around in the kitchen.

"Maybe it wasn't worth it after all, Hecate," she says to the goddess. She knows Hecate can hear her. "Because Aphrodite was right; love cannot heal mortals. And it definitely can't heal _me._ "


End file.
